Yara Lu and Xia Ling had already returned to the audience, waiting with eager malice to see Celia and Xia Xiaofu make fools of themselves.
Xia Ling, her face hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat, pulled out her phone with smug pride. "Yaoyao, the livestream for our runway show just hit ninety million viewers. Do you understand what that means? Nearly a hundred million people watched us. Celia and the others can only dream of surpassing that."
Ninety million. It was a historic record, one that no one had ever broken before. To beat it would require nothing short of a miracle.
Yara Lu adjusted the cloak draped over her shoulders and curved her lips into a confident smile. "Since they're so eager to humiliate themselves, we might as well sit back and let them."
Just as her words fell, the lights on stage shifted. Celia's runway show had begun.
From the darkness emerged a procession dressed in resplendent traditional Chinese court attire. At the front walked a regal consul-general, followed by palace maids in flowing pink silk robes. Their deliberate, measured steps evoked the grandeur of an imperial palace.
The hall fell silent. The crystal runway shimmered under the lights, as though infused with an otherworldly glow.
And then—Celia and Xia Xiaofu appeared.
A collective gasp swept through the audience.
Celia wore a reimagined Hanfu masterpiece named Moonlit Grace. The floral corseted gown blossomed with embroidered blooms, while luminous pearls inlaid across the fabric gleamed like a galaxy of stars scattered in the night sky.
Xia Xiaofu, beside her, wore Radiant Elegance—a modernized design with a scarlet shoulder strap paired with a vivid green satin skirt. Bold and intricate, it drew every eye in the room.
Until this moment, Celia's collection had been shrouded in secrecy. No one knew her theme. Now, as the designs unfurled, the revelation left the audience awestruck: Celia had chosen to weave her entire runway around traditional Chinese elements, blending exquisite craftsmanship with contemporary fashion.
Music swelled through the hall. Celia and Xia Xiaofu lowered their gazes, sleeves flowing like clouds, and began to dance.
Celia was already breathtaking, but in motion she transcended mere beauty. Her sleeves drifted like mist, her movements light as silk in the breeze. Later generations, recalling this legendary scene, could only describe her as: graceful as drifting clouds, radiant in flowing garments, her waist supple as a ribbon, her steps light as air.
In the front row, Nathaniel Fu suddenly lost his composure—the pen in his hand slipped, clattering to the ground.
His gaze was locked entirely on the stage. This was the first time he had ever truly seen her dance.
He remembered catching only glimpses of her once, twirling on the dance floor of Yecheng Bar—fluid, hypnotic, like a water sprite. But that had been fleeting entertainment.
What stood before him now was different. This was art. This was heritage. This was Celia.
His eyes followed her every step, the fragrance of her flowing sleeves filling his senses. And then, an undeniable thought struck him—
That girl he had glimpsed years ago, stepping off the school bus beside Xia Xiaofu, her face hidden but her slender, ethereal figure seared into his memory… it had been her.
It had always been her.At what age had she first entered his world?
The female singer's voice, lilting with a Beijing accent, rose into its final chorus:
"The curtain opens and closes, the crowd gathers,Only to behold the beauty's glance and dance,A dream too vivid to wake from."
The music faded.
Celia and Xia Xiaofu, breathless and glistening with sweat, walked to the front of the stage. They bowed deeply.
For a long moment, the hall remained silent, completely spellbound.
Then, as if a dam had burst, the audience erupted.
One person stood, then another, until the entire hall was on its feet. Applause roared like a tidal wave across the crystal runway.
"Celia! Celia!""Miss Xia! Miss Xia!"
Their names were chanted, rising above the thunder of clapping hands.
The runway show was no longer just a competition—it had become history.